<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Admit One by FabulousPotatoSister</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23185054">Admit One</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/FabulousPotatoSister/pseuds/FabulousPotatoSister'>FabulousPotatoSister</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>(guys seriously), (if you don't know what OKD means. read my notice me senpai fanfictions), (they are old and cringey and i love them a lot), F/F, Face Painting, Fluff, I'm Bad At Tagging, Kissing, Optimal Kissing Distance, Tooth-Rotting Fluff</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 02:01:41</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,931</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23185054</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/FabulousPotatoSister/pseuds/FabulousPotatoSister</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>You're nervous about setting up a face painting booth for a year-end fair. The Doctor might have a way to help.</p>
<p>or</p>
<p>"the face painting thing", according to my Google Docs title.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>The Doctor (Doctor Who)/Reader, Thirteenth Doctor/Reader</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>65</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Admit One</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>can i tell you guys honestly that this was an excuse for me to write gently touching the doctor's face? like... no plot, no actual reason. i don't know, i just  got inspired by watching my best friend work at a face painting booth and just being like "god, i wish that were me". </p>
<p>enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Deep breaths.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>You stared at the ticket pressed between your fingers. It was a nice ticket, colorful and well designed. Printed on the ticket were the words “Year-End Fair”, and below that were different boxes that you could get signed or stamped. Each box had a different label for each booth - a marriage booth, a photo booth, a carnival booth, a movie booth, a lounge booth, and a </span>
  <em>
    <span>face painting booth</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Your</span>
  </em>
  <span> face painting booth. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>You thought it was a good idea. It was just something you wanted to do to give back, use your talents for the community. It seemed like a good idea when you’d suggested it to the organizers of the fair. They’d offered to pay you for your time. It </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span> a good idea.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>So what were you so nervous about? </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Your old backpack sat on your bed while you fished for all your palettes and brushes that you </span>
  <em>
    <span>must</span>
  </em>
  <span> have hidden around your room in the TARDIS. The whole art, painting thing was a hobby that the Doctor encouraged you to continue even as you travelled with her. She would dedicate whole adventures to travelling to museums in the future, art galleries in space, auctions on different planets. She’d take you to special stores to buy rare pigments and paints. She had said, once, “Creativity is one of the greatest powers humanity has.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She was nice like that. She was </span>
  <em>
    <span>very</span>
  </em>
  <span> nice…</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>You shook your head, your hand scraping the bottom of a box that you’d pushed under your bed a few weeks ago. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Now </span>
  </em>
  <span>wasn’t the time to be thinking about the Doctor </span>
  <em>
    <span>like that</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Now was the time to be unnecessarily nervous about something that </span>
  <em>
    <span>you’d </span>
  </em>
  <span>come up with. You would find time to think about the alien </span>
  <em>
    <span>later</span>
  </em>
  <span>, when you weren’t stressed out about something that was </span>
  <em>
    <span>your</span>
  </em>
  <span> problem.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The box was empty. It made you wonder if the TARDIS ever cleaned the rooms, because sometimes things just seemed to go missing. You flopped onto your bed, glancing at the backpack. You’d counted two face paint palettes, and another two that were probably alright for skin contact. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Again, </span>
  <em>
    <span>why were you so nervous</span>
  </em>
  <span>? It was just going to be a day of dealing with some excited kids. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What’s all this?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>You sucked in a breath. The Doctor was standing in the doorway, her hands tucked into the pockets of her pants. The first thing you noticed was that her coat was </span>
  <em>
    <span>missing</span>
  </em>
  <span>, which meant that she looked smaller than she usually did. Later, you would translate that incoherent thought as </span>
  <em>
    <span>she looked adorable</span>
  </em>
  <span>. She raised her eyebrows at you, and she was right to do so because you were probably just sitting there with your mouth open. “Mind if I come in?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah - I mean </span>
  <em>
    <span>no</span>
  </em>
  <span>, of course, of course.” Why couldn’t you </span>
  <em>
    <span>speak</span>
  </em>
  <span>? “Yeah, uh, you can come in.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The Doctor smiled in response, her messy blonde hair falling over her face, and you mentally punched yourself in the face. She stepped into your room, her eyes immediately settling on the backpack that was still open on your bed. “Planning a trip somewhere?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Not exactly.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh.” The Doctor frowned. “Some</span>
  <em>
    <span>time</span>
  </em>
  <span>, then? This is a time machine. If you just want to go anywhere, any time, in the universe, you can always ask me. I’d be happy to help.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>You bit your bottom lip as the Doctor peered into your backpack, peeling open the open pockets. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Happy to help, huh?</span>
  </em>
  <span> She wasn’t helping at all, walking into your room with her messed up hair and coat-less self. You closed your eyes when you heard her gasp. You could hear her </span>
  <em>
    <span>smile</span>
  </em>
  <span> in the sound. Why could you do that? You opened your eyes again to confirm that, </span>
  <em>
    <span>yes</span>
  </em>
  <span>, she was smiling. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Face paints!” the Doctor cried, picking up one of the palettes that had been thrown into the bag. “I love face paints. I’ve seen some really beautiful ones. Are you getting your face painted?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Nope.” The question of the hour. “I’m doing the face painting.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The Doctor practically jumped, nearly dropping the pallet - </span>
  <em>
    <span>careful, that was really expensive</span>
  </em>
  <span> - while another big smile settled onto her face. “You? Oh, that’s brilliant.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Maybe the Doctor was right - maybe the whole face painting gig was brilliant. There certainly was a brilliance to the art form, of making people into living, breathing pieces of art, and maybe there was also a brilliance in the fact that you were getting paid for it. But you were </span>
  <em>
    <span>rusty</span>
  </em>
  <span>. It had been a while since you’d drawn, let alone </span>
  <em>
    <span>painted</span>
  </em>
  <span> anyone’s face. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The Doctor seemed to sense your doubt. She sat down on the bed, carefully putting the palette back into your backpack. “What’s wrong? You can tell me, I’ve been told I’m a very good listener.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span>. “I don’t know what’s wrong,” you began, wringing your hands. “I shouldn’t be nervous. I know I’m good at this. I don’t know. I feel like it’s been way too long.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You </span>
  <em>
    <span>are</span>
  </em>
  <span> good at what you do,” the Doctor said, sounding deathly serious. Her eyes shone with something that you couldn’t quite describe. “That’s a very good mindset to have. Trust your abilities, and all that. But if you feel like it’s been too long - well, they do say </span>
  <em>
    <span>practice makes perfect</span>
  </em>
  <span> -”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The Doctor paused, cutting off her talking to smile widely. “You could always practice on me! I could be your first customer.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>If you were drinking something you would have spit it out. You weren’t drinking anything, so you choked on air instead. Was she joking? She </span>
  <em>
    <span>had</span>
  </em>
  <span> to be joking. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>But one glance at her could confirm that she wasn’t joking at all. She was now sitting cross-legged on in front of you on her bed, her face drawn into a smile, looking so very </span>
  <em>
    <span>tiny </span>
  </em>
  <span>and so very </span>
  <em>
    <span>cute</span>
  </em>
  <span>. And she had sounded so earnest too. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Here to help</span>
  </em>
  <span>, indeed.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>How could you say no to that?</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>You sighed, reaching over into your backpack to grab an old pack of facial wipes, a palette, and a brush. You could see the Doctor light up as you brought those things out and laid them on the bed.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Stay here,” you said, standing up, “I’ll go get some water for the paint.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The Doctor didn’t actually </span>
  <em>
    <span>stay there</span>
  </em>
  <span> as you’d instructed - when you came back from the bathroom that the TARDIS had put in your bedroom, she was already standing up and walking around, looking at all the stuff you’d collected over your time travelling together. Small crystals, paintings, sculptures. Most of them were gifts from her. You smiled, staring at the alien who could manage to make you feel so </span>
  <em>
    <span>fond</span>
  </em>
  <span> by just standing there.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>That was it. You had a word for it - </span>
  <em>
    <span>fondness</span>
  </em>
  <span>. You were so incredibly fond of the Doctor. Whatever it was that you felt every time you thought of her was </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Doctor,” you called, softly, and she turned around from her examination of a small frog sculpture, her hair swinging with the motion. “You still up for it?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Me? Yes! Of course. Always am.” She leapt towards the bed again, settling into her cross-legged position from before. You were starting to get tired of your internal monologue calling her cute all the time. (You weren’t.) “Ready when you are.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>You sat down in front of her, setting the water down on a side table then taking the pack of facial wipes and pulling one out. “The paints I’m using are water activated, so your face has to be clean when I start - “</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>You paused, the facial wipe centimeters away from the Doctor’s face. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Maybe</span>
  </em>
  <span> you didn’t think this through. You’d just found a word for your feelings for the Doctor and now you were going to be </span>
  <em>
    <span>very close to her</span>
  </em>
  <span> and touching her face. It wasn’t intimate. It </span>
  <em>
    <span>felt </span>
  </em>
  <span>very intimate suddenly. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>You swallowed, feeling your face grow warm. </span>
  <em>
    <span>No time like the present</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>You kept going, rubbing the facial wipe over the Doctor’s right temple, then moving it down to her cheekbone. Her skin was warm, and maybe you were imagining it but she looked like she was blushing under the not-very-bright lights of your bedroom. Wait, why were your lights like that? Didn’t you have them turned all the way up just a few minutes ago?</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll put it right…” You pulled the facial wipe away, tracing where you had just wiped with your thumb. “...here, I think.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What will you paint?” the Doctor asked, making no move to remove your thumb from her face. “I’m alright with anything. I’m sure whatever you’re going to paint will be spectacular.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p><span>You turned away from her to prepare your paints, dipping your brush in the water you’d left on the side table and swirling it into some violet paint. You blinked, and saw an image of the Doctor’s eyes. </span><em><span>Stars</span></em><span>, you decided, turning back towards her. </span><em><span>Lots and lots of stars.</span></em> <em><span>Very fitting for someone who lives among them.</span></em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Taking another deep breath, you reached out and brushed some of the Doctor’s hair behind her ear. Her earring glinted in the light, but it could have been lost in the shine of her eyes - </span>
  <em>
    <span>anyway</span>
  </em>
  <span>. You took your non-dominant hand, placing your thumb and your index finger under her chin to stabilize her face. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The Doctor tilted her head so that you could see her cheek better. You didn’t even have to move her - she was a perfect customer. With that all set up, you started to paint. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Painting usually requires a certain level of focus. And talking was getting very hard. You were trying very hard not to </span>
  <em>
    <span>stop</span>
  </em>
  <span> painting and just study the Doctor’s face while it was still in your hands. Every stroke of your brush was just a chance to memorize the features of her face, every little mark you connected like constellations.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The Doctor, once again, picked up on your thoughts, because she just started </span>
  <em>
    <span>talking</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The Doctor was not one to </span>
  <em>
    <span>stay still</span>
  </em>
  <span>. She never liked sitting around, doing </span>
  <em>
    <span>nothing</span>
  </em>
  <span>. She was always a bouncing ball of energy, chaos in the body of a blonde woman, and when she talked she was always very animated about it. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s very quiet,” she said, somewhat nervously. “I never did like that. I’ll tell you a story - did I ever tell you about the time I was put in a simulation?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“No,” you replied, somewhat absentmindedly. You adjusted the Doctor’s face slightly, moving it down - she followed without question. You felt your face heat up again; you hoped the Doctor didn’t notice how red your face was probably getting. If she did, she wasn’t bringing it up. She was nice like that.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“That time was really something. You never know with simulations - either they’re training you to become super soldiers or they’re just experimenting. Anyway, they put me in the simulation - don’t worry, it was a very long time ago, I think I was still a man - and the ones supervising kept going on and on about </span>
  <em>
    <span>compatibility levels</span>
  </em>
  <span>. I don’t know what they were going on about, they sent me in there alone - and then told me I was their first experiment, which can I just say, for an experiment about compatibility that is a </span>
  <em>
    <span>terrible </span>
  </em>
  <span>control -”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The Doctor was getting more animated now, waving her hands about. “Doctor, you need to stop moving so much,” you warned, but she didn’t seem to hear you. “Doctor!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh - </span>
  </em>
  <span>!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>In the middle of a particularly impassioned bit, her face slipped out of your hands and your brush, which was still on her face, left a short trail of yellow from her cheek to a spot near her chin, making the star you were supposed to be painting seem more like a shooting star.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The Doctor stopped talking, suddenly becoming very still. She looked down to try and see the damage, and then promptly deflated, sighing deeply. “I’ve ruined it, haven’t I?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She was wearing what you would accurately call her “puppy-dog eyes”, big and round and very sad and pleading. You sighed, but one that was more amused and </span>
  <em>
    <span>fond</span>
  </em>
  <span>, taking her face into your hands again. “No, I can fix it.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>You lifted her chin up. The streak wasn’t very long, and the paint was still wet. You could probably do with just rubbing it away - you lifted your thumb to the area and gently rubbed the paint off, watching it disappear into her skin like it was nothing. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Rubbing the last of the paint away, you very quickly realized that your thumb was getting very close to her lips, the Doctor had gone very quiet which was unlike her, and that because you had leaned in to wipe the paint off, </span>
  <em>
    <span>the two of you had gotten very, very close</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Almost </span>
  <em>
    <span>too</span>
  </em>
  <span> close.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Doctor?” you asked. The Doctor hummed in response. “I - I think it’s done.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>You moved to take your hand away from her face - but the Doctor reached out and curled her fingers around your wrist. Her grasp wasn’t tight, it was gentle, but it definitely kept you from moving.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Your heart felt like it was in your throat. “What -”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Wait,” the Doctor said, her voice wavering. “Wait, I -” She swallowed, suddenly looking very unsure of herself. Like she was about to make a stupid decision. “May I?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“May I…?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Your heart was beating wildly against your chest now, thudding painfully with every passing second. The Doctor was just so close and she was holding your hand close to her face like it was a lifeline. And then, with another exhale, she murmured -</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>May I kiss you</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The best description for what happened next would be </span>
  <em>
    <span>your brain short circuited</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Like a computer faced with an unsolvable problem or a complicated paradox. If there was something you knew about the Doctor it was that she could be impatient, but while you were mentally keysmashing she was waiting patiently for an answer. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>There were no words. What could you say? What could you say to the woman who you had been travelling with for the longest time? What could you say to the alien who had taken you to such amazing places and treated you with the utmost care? What could you say to the person that you were so fond of?</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Whatever it was, it wasn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>no</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>You just nodded.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The Doctor breathed out, a sigh of relief, and turned her head, pressing her lips to the inside of your palm. The press of her lips </span>
  <em>
    <span>burned</span>
  </em>
  <span> your skin, the action so tender you were sure it was going to make you cry. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She moved even closer to you, her breath fanning across your face. You had never seen her eyes this close before, and you decided that you had made a very good decision to paint stars on her cheekbone - where else would you put them, if not next to her eyes, where they belonged? </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The Doctor paused. Your eyes searched hers, desperately looking for something that would tell you that this was all a dream, and that you would wake up next to your backpack with a ticket in your hand. There was nothing.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” she said softly. “Are you sure?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>You let a smile slip onto your face. “Always am.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The Doctor smiled back, and - </span>
  <em>
    <span>oh </span>
  </em>
  <span>- she pressed her lips to yours.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It wasn’t like most kisses you’d had - most of them were rough and demanding and not at all enjoyable. But the Doctor’s kiss made your lips burn the way she had made the skin on your palm burn, and now perhaps all of you was burning, set alight with just her lips. The Doctor let go of your wrist and let her hands rest on your hips. You raised your other hand to gently hold both sides of her face, smiling against the kiss.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She was burning all of the old you away, leaving only something entirely new behind.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The Doctor pulled away. She rested her forehead against yours, grinning. “Well, don’t tell me you’re going to kiss all your customers like that.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Only you, Doctor,” you whispered. “Only you.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The Doctor hummed in response, satisfied. She leaned back slightly, showing off your handiwork. “Well, what do you think? Does it suit me?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s not a fair question,” you said, laughing and folding one of her hands in yours. “I made it. Of course I think it suits you. But I do think it’s missing something…”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The Doctor raised her eyebrows. “Oh? Do tell.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>In a daring move, you leant forward to press a kiss to the corner of her lips, right where the streak of paint had ended.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“There,” you said, puffing your chest out with pride, “now it’s perfect.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The kiss made the Time Lord gasp slightly, and then she smiled, awe filling her features. She looked at you the same way that she would look at distant stars, or beautiful plants, or machines and inventions that she admired. She looked at you the same way a mortal man might view a celestial being. It was something you recognized, a look you knew well, because she looked upon you with the same adoration that you had looked at her with just a few moments ago. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>(You had made art on her skin, but to her, you were the most beautiful masterpiece the universe had ever created.)</span>
</p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re going to have to pay me for that.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You don’t have a ticket!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oi, you never said anything about a ticket!”</span>
</p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>